Firebreather
by Serpentinya
Summary: Dragonkind had not been heard or seen since the days of the Lonely Mountain. One, however, lived and breathed each day in a body not his own-that of a girl from Minas Tirith. As she struggles to keep him inside, Gostir fights to rid himself of a life chained to Sauron. Freedom waits, but girl or beast cannot survive without the other. Pre-LoTR currently, separate, diverse plot.
1. 1--A Chance Arrangement

**Author's Note**

* * *

Hello everyone! This is my first (official) fanfiction. This account, at least since it was created, was simply a test, but I'm glad I was able to return and actually use it. I hope you can approach this story with an open mind, since it focuses on a separate plot from The Hobbit and LOTR, though the events of the War of the Ring will appear at some point.

I took Gostir from wiki/Gostir and to my surprise, there's almost nothing known about the dragon of Morgoth. As such, I don't own anything related to Middle Earth, all rights go to Tolkien for creating the fabulous world!

* * *

Chapter One: A Chance Arrangement

The Valar have a grand sense of humor. To Men, Elves, and Dwarves alike, they who saw so much evil once believed that is could not be immortal, that it can be defeated, and once gone, the whispers of its name will fade from history, becoming only a vague memory to those who once combated it. Yet why could evil disappear yet hang so high in the sky, gazing down upon Middle Earth like a Great Eagle searching for its prey? Who would think to look up at the grey clouds, seeing in them not the presence of rain that would bring youth, life, and growth, but the resurgence of evil?

-o-

Gandalf knew very well that The Necromancer would return one day, when he found in him new power and strength as well as an abundance of new allies to serve him. After he had seen Bilbo off, Gandalf began his research and travel across Middle Earth, learning as much as he could about the inevitable evil that would rise up, and about the mysterious ring Bilbo had found. Such a curious thing that the hobbit prided himself over, and even Gandalf's kind visage couldn't forget that such powerful items had secrets.

His travels brought him one stormy night in The Prancing Pony in the settlement of Bree, where he had stopped to rest after a visit with Bilbo at The Shire. The men in town seemed particularly apt in hushed chatter and gossip that night, and it was enough for the wizard to raise a bushy eyebrow at. Of the conversations around him at the crowded tavern, he could pick up only tidbits. It seemed that the name Gostir was on many a tongue, and when mentioned, the expressions on people's faces were often disbelief, suspicion, and even amusement.

_Gostir…_The name was a vague one to Gandalf. After Smaug had been vanquished, were more rumors of dragons bound to pop up across the land? Little to nothing was known about the ancient dragon who was said to have been slain by warriors north of the Withered Heath. Nothing to worry about, assuredly, but as Gandalf retreated to his room where he longed so very much to retire to, he found one of the many books he had carried along his journey, and with the glow of a candle and puff of his pipe, began flipping the pages of a tome on dragons to recall Gostir.

_"One of the most mysterious dragons known to Middle Earth was Gostir, he who had a Dread Glance. His spotted grey wings were stained in the blood of his brethren, and eventually, that of Men in the late First Age. Smaller than his father, the Father of Dragons Glaurung, he was still a mighty sight, with his scales that were like sharpened scythes. Little is known of his early life, as he maintained a constant vigil among the peaks of Ered Lithui. The great winged beast did not act like the Dragons Middle Earth knew. Instead he pitied man for their weakness, and scorned his greedy kind. This did not stop the people that lurked near the home of Dragons far west of the Iron Hills from drawing their swords and bows against him. When his wings cast a great shadow over Rhovanion and Mirkwood as he longed to return to his home, those who would raise their weapons up met him before he could reach mountains of refuge. Who was he to claim himself unaffected by greed and pride of his kind, when he did not look upon them as they starved and froze and suffered nature's wrath? Could he pity them when he sat upon a great high, with his wings catching the wind and his hunt easy? All dragons had an urge to dominate, and they were created by Melkor to wreak havoc upon mortal kind._

_Even when his life was threatened and his eyes could clearly see what the people suffered, he remained wordless, so their arrows struck his breast when fire met shields and flesh. They burned and they bled because rage and sorrow was too much of a burden to bear when they watched their children die. Many of them lost their lives to fight the injustice of ignorance, but they had at last found their peace when the dragon lay at their feet. Even as he gave his dying breath and the men lowered their guard for a time of respite, they still heard his fell voice in a whisper on the wind. Sweat was a sheen on their brows as though the dragon's fire still roared. Justice was done for them, and they could go back to wife and children with livened hope. Still, as evil cannot be immortal, and justice comes eventually to all, they would continue to feel his gaze upon them and the heaviness of his breath in the air they breathed._

_Their people would die out slowly, but when at last their kind dwindled, a prophecy was struck in stone laying at their feet. A message from heavens and stars above! Oh, joy they felt that they could be guided with purpose after so many tears shed at their lost people and livelihood. It was not a blessing that they felt, but an evil omen. Their dreaded foe was truly not dead. His soul lingered among the stars and heavens, waiting to be reborn inside of the humanoids that roamed the land. The time when he would seek to claim a body would be a dawning age of bloodshed and brutality, as well as sacrifice. When evil from Valar above would try to claim power, Gostir would return. To the dying group of people who were delivered this prophecy, vengeance and dread filled their hearts, though the message before them spoke of no evil from the dragon's soul directly. A strange thing it was, but perhaps when he would reappear there would be another foe? It seemed clear to the people what their next steps were. This token from deities who saw past, present, and future altogether must be relayed to every man and woman that claimed life upon Middle Earth. With the little men and women the people below the Iron Hills had, they slowly began to disperse and mingle among the races to make faint murmurs of what was relayed to them. Not enough to stir up panic, but enough for this passage to be written, and for the dear reader to heed its words._

_When Gostir returns, if there is a chance given by the Valar for him to breathe in the breeze again, know that past evil does not always mean future evil. Be wary and vigilant, for if you come across a peculiar male who stands out among his kind, think back to what I have told you, and remember that evil may not be far ahead."_

Little, Gandalf mused, was known on Gostir still, as the passage retelling the dragon's life was minuscule compared to what other sections of the book proclaimed. Still, it was enough to make him rub his beard in contemplation. Why would common men who had more important things to worry about than long-lost prophecies and stories told by wiser people be whispering about a dead dragon all of a sudden? The answer could have been clear, but Gandalf would not be one to assume. His eyes were tired and the candle wax dripped with melancholy of burning as the hour was late. Retiring his pipe and hat upon the chest top at the foot of his bed, he knew that such an investigation would have to wait until morning. He'd had enough of dragons for a lifetime, anyway.

-o-

Dawn approached with the singing and chatter of birds, but ceased the chatter of dragons. The men and women of Bree still had their conversations that were out of place, but the subject had changed to Edoras. It wasn't uncommon for them to talk about the capital city of Rohan, but the city was fairly common in its dealings, and the people's topics of conversation were anything but. Some idle prattle about a young girl appearing from Minas Tirith begging for information on a most peculiar name. She had been there for a week, and frankly it was getting on everyone's nerves. A useless rumor of course, nothing out of the ordinary except a strane girl who poked her nose into things she should not meddle with. She was clearly desperate and oblivious to the people's suspicion around her, and she grated everyone's nerves.

Gandalf was ready to set out to see where the wind might take him for news he might uncover, but the same rumor about the girl was repeated among the people. As he made his way close to the gates, he stopped a man who seemed to know more than the rest about Edoras.

"Forgive me, but have you any news of what goes on in Edoras?" The wizard examined the man's face, clean of dirt that plagued the people. He spoke with a kind voice, as the old man in him would to use to his advantage subconsciously.

"Aye, sir. The people are as hungry as ever, bless the Rohirrim. I don't know why you would care, sir. Not much has changed despite what happened east. Unless you are like all these folk who ask the same question, about the madness that has seemed to have appeared from The White City. I swear, 'round here the people's eyes widen if they hear something that is more interesting than them milking cows and tending to children." The man did not look the part of a man from Rohan, and as he tended to his bay horse he seemed like a bird ready to bolt.

"Indeed. What is this 'madness' you speak of so feverishly?" Gandalf broached, coming closer to the man and watching him as he untied his mount from a pole by the gates.

At this, the man shook his head and smirked bitterly, spitting at the ground and digging his boots into soil. "More of a 'who' than a 'what'. In fact, I was the one who took her to the city. Paid me a measly sum to take her from The White City to Edoras. I cannot believe for the life a' me how young she was. Someone like that ought to still be suckling from her mother's breast." He chuckled and waggled his head again, and Gandalf resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. "Ah, but you want to know more about 'er? She did not say much, but kept her face concealed in the shadows of a cloak. I tell ya', she couldn't have been older than thirteen winters. Spoke real pretty too with a fair face marred with fresh claw marks. Reckon a wolf got her before she found me posted at a tavern outside Minas Tirith. Seemed to be okay other than that."

"You did not ask the girl's name or any other information?" Gandalf was skeptical at this man, to ride with a child without parents and few words was not something becoming of an honorable man.

"Ah, you see, sir, in my line of work, some people are not the best a' people and need a quick getaway. Besides, she was quick to hurry me up after paying me." Without a glance, the man hoisted him up onto the saddle of his horse, though remaining stationary. "If you want to know more about your mystery madwoman, I would point ya' to the girl 'erself. Good day to ya'." With that, he rode off, disappearing among the sea of people crowding the gates at the time of the day. Looking to the sun, he pondered the man's words and suggestion. Perhaps a visit to Edoras was due, though he had little reason to pursue the girl. As he decided on his next course of action, he listened and watched as the people worked and chatted among themselves.

"I do hate t' repeat myself, dear sister, but the way the men described the wailing!" A woman burst out with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand as she toted a basket of bread and fruit beside another similar looking person. "'Please, does anyone know how to remove my curse? Please sir, my parents say that I have been corrupted. But whatever could I be corrupted from among smithies and guards of a white tree?"" Another jolt of laughter, but the woman's sister only shook her head.

"It was more like talk of children's stories, legends that would never come true. Perhaps a dragon was slain in the east, but why would a child talk of a different one, if any? She should worry about shaping up if she is to take a husband." The sterner, more mature voice of the mocking woman's sister commented as she wiped her pudgy face with a rag. "I swear, if one of those types comes into this fine settlement, off with her head and spit on her for good measure! We do not need unintelligent women who forget their femininity and grace."

"Ah, lighten up. You just say that because you are married and with children of your own, and your man runs off in the middle a' the night. I do hope that girl's tongue is silenced, though. I am sure that Rohan would sleep better without the voice of a whining child ringing in their dreams."

-o-

More talk passed through about the nameless girl who longed for stories of dragons who concealed her face from the world and travelled alone. As Gandalf sped down The Green Way without true cause or reason, he wondered how trivial such a pursuit would be. In his endless life he had no need to worry about whether it was a waste of time, though it was possible it could be taking up his time into learning of The Necromancer. He would hope that he would not miss too much on his way to Edoras. The North-South Road was the point of no return in which he would not change his mind, and he did not as he went back and forth between riding and resting. Past Isengard and the Fords of Isen he would go, letting the countless days of travel pass by, to finally gaze upon the towering city of Edoras.

A proud one it was, a grand settlement of men and women though how so much the Rohirrim suffered. Their faces never changed when encased in the city's walls. Valiant in battle they were, unafraid of death and destruction. He admired their strength and willpower, but here at their capital, sunken cheeks marred what he had once always seen. Strange how nature and fortune worked, for the people once had a bounty of food and resources.

He was given soft and weary looks as he passed through, pulling down the brim of his pointy hat so that he might conceal it from those who suspected at a glance. He was only here for one thing, a chance arrangement, perhaps fate or destiny, or perhaps he was foolhardy. He did not doubt his wisdom or instinct though. He had been sent to this earth for a reason, and reasons would he find to give, and receive in turn.

-o-

Eyes that once were hardened cried out desperation in turn. They were midnight blue nights without stars, and their owner was a dreary soul, like a wet rag slumping from the table top to the floor with all of its weight in clear water, such a burden it had to bear to do its job. Still, there was strength in it, resistance and will to hold its shape and not be overcome. Virtue and talent are useless without willpower, and though the young soul that sat hunched over on the ground as rain started to pour had little but a smoldering flame of it. She was too young to feel its heat in her bones and voice, to cry out against what went against what she desired. In this world where men ruled, she felt like a spineless shrew, yet she would still try and try, with all her might, though paltry.

She was the one who was most interested in a name that had once been a whisper of a dying people who bled and burned because rage was fire in their veins that did not burn like Gostir's mighty breath. As Gandalf approached her, he was taken aback by her appearance. Dripping wet jet black hair that was covered in as many braids as could fit, a dash of freckles upon her nose, and a sharp, intense look about her that held no fire. The most apparent thing to him were the bloody bandages wrapped around her head that barely allowed her to see. She had been attacked by a lone wolf when fleeing from something too terrible for her heart to bear any longer. It had struck two deep cuts upon her temple, one that went from her eyebrow to her temple, and another one that dripped fresh blood down her nose and ran beneath her eyes before meeting its sibling. Dried crimson was upon her cheek, lip, and ragged clothing which could only be somewhat dried by her moth-eaten cloak.

She watched him as he made his way toward her, frightened by how he did not shy away from her crying and yells of 'Please, anyone!' and 'Will no one aid me?'. Burrowing further into the shadows of her cover, she inched away from him as subtly as she could. The way he looked at her, such compassion in his features, was unknown to her. It struck a sharp chord in her heart and left panicked butterflies to gnaw at her insides. Her lips trembled for some words that they might give, a question, an answer, anything.

"Sir," she paused to look up meekly at his gaze as he had come to tower above her with his bushy eyebrows and beard, and a hat that would make her smile, if not for the current mood of the situation. "You are not like the others. A traveler, so I am sorry if I bothered you. Really, this Edoras is full of strong people. They have just had a bad turn of events. Do not think that my appearance is a common occurrence and annoyance." It was the best she could do quietly without her voice wavering so much that he might hear her fear in her rumblings.

"Be calm, young one. You are no bother to me, but a concern." He gave her a smile, for what it could be worth. "I am Gandalf. May I ask you for your name, dear girl?" She reminded him of a deer with the way she acted, but her angular features were wild and held determination even if the spirit did not.

"My name? Zerith, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you, Gandalf." She would remember her manners lest he be offended and disappear back to the people, another one who would demand that her shrill tongue be silenced. She realized that he was staring back at her still in anticipation. A surname? Family ties? She had left them all behind, for they were not truly hers, even through blood. It took only a moment for her to spit out a title she could conjure up. "Zerith Graywynd, lone daughter of Graywynd the Fearless, if that is what you want." She stared up at him with a soft smile as she replied, watching him with curiosity evident beneath the rags she called clothes.

"And to you, little one. You should not be out in this gathering storm, not with a fresh wound that has not been properly taken care of. If you would allow it, may I take a closer look at your forehead?" He offered a wrinkled, warm hand to help her up, and she gazed in wonder at it. _A kindly stranger for once who is not burdened by famine, but can he truly help me? I pray, how I pray… _With great hesitation, she took his hand in her small pale one and rose to her feet with a shiver, balling up the ends of her cloak in fists as she tried to keep warm. At a beckon from the wizard, she followed him to a bench beneath a low hanging canopy of a house and sat down, staring at her feet with toes sticking out of worn shoes. He gently took her chin in his hands, forcing her stare upwards as he produced fresh, clean bandages and what she knew to be alcohol. Timidly she removed her cloak and unraveled the bandages which dampened her fingers with her lifeblood.

"It is bad, so forgive me for the sight. I just… there was nothing for me to do. The man who brought me here gave me the bandages, but that was a few days ago and the cuts are not doing well." Her eyes were glassy with tears and she could not bear to meet those soft eyes again that had made her heart warm with how much kindness he radiated, like her light in darkness.

The cuts were quite deep and the child could very well have been plunged in half-darkness had the wolf aimed any better for her eye. She winced as he pressed a cloth with the alcohol to her cuts and tears passed their cold gates to mix with her long, dark hair. He took in the way her gaze never faltered from his as she felt the sting of the sterilization, and how drenched in sorrow she seemed to be. Even as he replaced her bandages and gave a gentle squeeze of her hand, she still stared in deep contemplation. It was barely a whisper when she spoke, and were they in a noisier place, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Why have you come here, Gandalf? Those who approach me do not do it out of curiosity. If they were able, they might sew my lips together so that I might not ask for help because they can not give it and don't want to encourage my rambling." Her voice was rough, too mature for her, which brought him to speak.

"You are in need of aid, and I will give it. Tell me, how old are you? You should not be alone here, and you should not have come to this place." He studied her face as she crept away from him internally, and her mind began a debate. She would proceed very carefully.

"I am twelve winters, sir. There are many things that should not be done, but it does not stop anyone and it did not stop me. Where else would I go? Not to the elves, for I am not one of their kind and do not know how to approach them. I must go where someone might listen, might know, but I see that perhaps it was foolish of me to even try to discover my purpose." A long drawn out pause afterwards, where he saw her rise from her seat and strike a glance of him. It was defiance, and of what even she did not know, but it was a blaze of glory to achieve her dreams.

"Your parents are those who must care for you. Are you an orphan?"

"No, Gandalf. They are the reason I came here, for their hate for me is rooted from one thing that no one knows about. I trekked here to find someone who does. It was hard getting here. I had to steal money just to pay for someone to take me here, but that is not important now. Anyway, do you happen to know anything about dragons? Nobody here is offering anything on the matter, what with that dragon and the dwarves." Her every word was hesitant and afraid that his face might lose its soft composure of wisdom and age.

"Dragons? What might you be in need of knowledge of dragons for other than bedtime stories?"

She looked around at the people that slowly passed by, and they were out of earshot. "My parents told me that everyone was warned about someone like me. They say that a 'Ghost er' is plaguing me. Is it some sort of plague? What is a 'Ghost er'? Anyone who is not like me, not adults, I mean, keeps saying that. I do not understand." She displayed confusion, but her heart beat quickly with anxiety.

'_Ghost er'? A strange thing._ Though with the way she said it, it was a name, not a phrase. He came to a grim realization that she was indeed talking of a name. _Minas Tirith must have been especially wary when the people from the west of the Iron Hills traveled there to spread news of a prophecy carved in stone…_ Now, his heart fell for the young girl. He did not quite understand how her parents could have known that an ancient dragon's soul lived inside her, nor why they stayed their hands. To harm a child was heinous, but Gostir was always treated like a monster that must be exterminated as soon as he appears again.

His wonder caused his voice to deepen. "And how could they have known that this 'Ghost er' was plaguing you, as you say?"

"Well," she drew closer to him to speak in a hushed voice. "One day, as I was helping my mother prepare food, there came a knock upon our door. I answered at my mother's beckon, and outside there were some cruel children who loved to belittle me and throw dirt at me. They started to call me names, and instead of being sad, I got really angry. I felt really warm, like I could explode, and as soon as I opened my mouth, there was fire in my voice! I do not know how I did it, I swear! It was enough to make my mother run for me and the children outside. I looked up at her for consolation, but there was only…" Her voice trembled, and she pulled away from him. "Disgust. Like I was foreign." Shaking her head, she sat upon a bench. "I should not have told you. It is not a good thing, I know. Once people heard about what happened, they knew something I did not and whatever it was is not good."

What could he do with the child was now the question at large. It was obvious that no one would take her in, and that she could not control whatever it was that brought out the unnatural part of her. "I am here to help you, but you cannot stay here. I believe that I know what troubles you greatly, but you must learn to control it."

"What am I to do? Where can I go?" She looked to him for guidance, the innocence of purity in her eyes that clouded everything within her.

"I will find somewhere for you to live, and I will help you to understand. You cannot return to your parents, nor tell anyone of this. Trust can dissolve easily with those who know what true fear feels like instilled inside of them." He was apprehensive, but had little choice. She must be protected, from others and more importantly, herself. Balance must be found.

"I have no choice, and thank you for your help, but why will people hate if they know something like that happened? In the darkest recesses of herself, she knew the reason even if her consciousness couldn't delve into its murky waters.

"You are a fire breather, with a strong grasp on freedom and strength, but with so much to hold your life in the balance."

**Author's Note**

Jeez. This fanfic is so much smaller in person than it originally was. Forgive my sinning by not indenting my paragraphs, though they are indented in the original doc. Oh, formatting, or maybe it's just because I'm a novice. Anyway, reviews are appreciated, I hope you enjoyed. This fanfic (I hope) will be updated every week since school is starting and I'll be busy. Currently I'm almost done with the third chapter. Until then, fellow fangirls/boys!


	2. 2--Her Light In Darkness

Chapter Two: Her Light in Darkness

He did not have a place to live permanently, per se, and knew of no one that could handle her enigmatic ways, so Gandalf and Zerith set out the next day after their first meeting to find a home. Unfortunately not far ahead in their journey their only horse had spooked and bolted, leaving them to travel for weeks on foot. It was very dangerous, but the wizard kept them well concealed from any foes. Between travelling and resting, the two learned much about each other. The girl learned quickly that Gandalf was an Istari wizard, much to her surprise and befuddlement, but when she asked what _she _was, he responded with a typical 'when you are older'. The only response that differed was when she asked a similar question, or at least in her mind.

"Am I a monster?" Asked upon the route of following the River Loudwater upstream, she said it with little emotion, as though she were wondering something that had no emotional value. Her question made him give her a stern look that was replaced with comfort once he saw her hands move to her heart. "Monsters are caged to protect others. Is that where I will live? A cage?"

He contemplated her words, though he knew her question's answer. He just did not know why she would ask such a thing. She was unlike any other child who had little to worry about on the grand philosophical scheme of things, and she worried him greatly. However, he understood how she might feel. Alone, isolated, very frightened. It was evident in her eyes, even if her face became a cold, stone mask.

"You are a girl, a spirited one, and certainly not a monster. There is darkness everywhere across this land, passing over no one. You must remember that." He put a hand upon her shoulder, looking to the distant trees of the elves' lost kingdom behind them, knowing that they had come awfully far, and then looked down upon the girl, who had a soft smile on her face.

"Perhaps I will forget, but I have you to remind me of that when I do not have the willpower to." Her voice was a soft murmur that he heard for longer than it was spoken. "Anyway, never mind me, but where are we going, exactly?" She directed her question to him as they walked side by side, her inquisitive gaze observing the hilly land around them for anything unusual.

"There is a grove of trees where the two rivers here meet. I had once passed through here, and found an abandoned cottage at the intersection. A curious thing, for few humans make their homes close to elven lands. You will be well off, there." He kept his voice low, not trusting the open land after all that Thorin and his company had come across. It seemed like evil was appearing more and more in the most cut-off, desolate of places.

"Would I? Well, I suppose if it is abandoned and not close to anyone, it might be alright, but I thought this part of the land was populated with all sorts of creatures!" She shuddered, hopping over stones in their way as the old wizard followed steadily with his staff. "I believe too much in children's stories." The young girl laughed, rambling into idle, companion conversations.

When at last they came upon the intersection of the two roaring rivers Gandalf had spoken of, the two observed the area before them. The area surrounding the river was rocky and steep, cut by many years of water running through. It faded into dry grass and pine trees that spanned to just before the Trollshaws. It was certainly _not _the safest place, but the trolls would mind to the road and they would be alright, for a while, at least until he could think up some plan for what to do with the child. He could not take her to the elves, for they scorned all dragons for their greed and destruction. Men had proven that they were not trusting, and the dwarves were few and had too many problems concerning dragons already for lifetimes. It would be a lie to say that Gandalf himself fully trusted the girl. It was not her that made him wary, it was her soul, and its connection with evil. Melkor himself had created dragons for vile purposes, and the lines of darkness were tethered to that soul just like any dragon. Nienna in all her glory would feel undying pity for the child, and he did feel compassionate, but it was a gamble, a knife in the dark that could take the lives of many if Zerith was not taught to control herself. He was yet to tell her of what she was, because she seemed to know how much weighed down upon her and he did not want to bring more than what scorn and strife was already given. He would have to tell her _sometime_, but it was a conversation both of them were not ready for.

They approached the river, and to an overturned set of flat boulders that allowed for them to cross the river while remaining somewhat dry. Zerith was first, hiking her dress up to her knees and giggling with delight as her energetic feet were aptly hopping across before she came to a stop at the other side, patiently waiting for her elder. "That was fun," she exclaimed loudly, watching Gandalf's strides, "such a pretty river!" When he was near her, she let him take the lead through the dense forests, following carefully ahead through the tangle of roots. Her fear of the darkness in the mist kept her quiet as she kept close to him.

Just a little farther, a large patch of light shone upon a small, two story cottage. It was run down, weeds and other plants growing vividly surrounding it, however it looked like it had a strong structure and had been left untouched by anything that might meddle with it. Before they came any closer, Gandalf made the girl wait at the edge of the tree line so that he might take a closer look. Passing through the squeaky door, he glossed over the dusty wooden table and chairs before a long-cold fireplace, the creaking stairs which produced the upper level's three rooms, and to his surprise, found that most everything was furnished. This was decent, far better than what Zerith had previously had, anyway. Her family was one that had a habit of making too many drunken bets that they could not pay for.

Zerith smiled at him with relief once he beckoned her inside, and ran to his side to see what her new home was like. She did not mind the dust or cobwebs, and strangely began to clean the place. After given a lengthy eyebrow raise from her wizardly companion, she grinned with her back turned as she vigorously scrubbed at one of the bedroom's nightstands and offered a brief explanation. "The sooner it is cleaner, the sooner it is home." Yes, home, he thought. He would call it his home, though he knew he would not be able to be around as much as the girl would have liked. For the time being, though, it was the best the two of them would get.

-o-

A year's time had passed, and the two had found themselves to make the cottage a true place to live in. Gandalf stayed there for a while to watch the girl adjust to her new life. She longed for him to stay always and it was getting harder to come up with excuses for his lengthy trips away. One day, he returned from a visit in Rivendell to find the area eerily quiet. Calling out her name produced no reply, and he searched the whole nooks in crannies for the adolescent to no avail. When at last his anxiety was on edge, he heard the clashing of metal from the cellar below the main living area. There was no reason for her to be down there, and he raced to the lower stairs, fearing assailants had taken her. What he found was enough to puzzle him.

"Hyah!" The girl rallied a war cry, bashing the heavy shield she carried on her left arm at her enemy's hips. "Take that, you foe!" Slashing her sword at the shoulder, she ducked at a blow coming for her head and raised her shield in defense. "Fight me! I stand for all of us!" was triumph's shout in her voice, valiant words that boosted her speed.

In her mind, she imagined her rival dueling her viciously as she protected everything she cared for. She imagined how the world would be seen from a helmet, and how the ring of metal upon her armor would resound. She saw not in the straw-stuffed training dummy just what it was; it invoked visions of great battles to root out all evil. She was not a girl, but a great warrior that people would look up to. It was perfect in her brain but sadly did not equate to the real world.

Continuing her great battle against the battered dummy, Gandalf crept silently behind her, wondering what flooded her mind and gave her such an idea to do this. He could not suppress the chuckle that escaped his mouth, and immediately Zerith swung around, sword and shield flinging about as the wizard raised his staff to parry her frantic blow. Meeting his eyes as she saw he was no stranger come to fight her, she had a wild look and her long, free hair whipped about her face. Her look of mid-battle changed to embarrassment as he continued to laugh, and she stared into the dull metal of her sword for a long time before he recovered himself to inquire.

"Where did you find those? I know I did not bring them." She lay the old sword and shield at her feet, motioning towards a broken-in crate in the corner of the dank cellar. "You quite like to investigate things, Zerith, my dear girl." He smiled, though his eyes swam with worry. She had ideas that would never come true, dreams that were far-fetched. A life of battle wasn't what he wanted for her, and the dangers of it were too many.

"Where do you think I got that from?" She joked, picking up her weapons again. "At Minas Tirith, I saw the guardsmen once battling a thief who had a shortsword. My mother beckoned me not to watch as he would be given an imminent death, but I stood in awe as the guards fought, how there was grace and fluidity in their swings. I wanted to do that, to be part of something that defends. I know what you are thinking…" She met his gaze with anguish. "It is not my place. I am a woman, and we are supposed to do simple things. We bear children and raise them so that they might make something of themselves. This is not what I want. I will not be chained to someone or something. I want to be free from everything, to shape my life as I see fit." Her face and hands contorted in a look of fervid passion for what she felt. "It is _not _my place. When has anywhere ever been?" She whipped around to face the dummy, running the flat part of her blade upon a long cut she'd ripped out of the canvas.

"You have no use for this. Men would not accept you. Where would you fight if you were not a lone warrior?" He asked her with disapproval, coming to her side as she kept her eyes focused on the dummy. "It would mean certain death. You know this."

"And yet I persist." She interjected, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "What happens when you are gone and I'm alone? What happens when there is danger and you are not here? Unless you can magically appear at my side like lightning, then I would be finished." He heard the anger in her voice that she tried not to direct to him and he knew that she had a point, but watched as she was fatigued by holding the heavy weapons. Thirteen cycles of seasons had passed in her life, and though she was strong of heart, her arms could not bear the weight of such weapons at this age, not without rigorous training.

"You do not know how to fight. You can barely carry such weapons." He noted to her at his observation, and she shrugged off his words. Irritation was beginning to prickle in his voice. "You are not strong enough. Your body cannot handle such exercises constantly at your age."

"I am not _afraid._" She proclaimed angrily, turning to face him. "I am not afraid of pain, blood, or even death. To die in battle would be glorious, a worthy sacrifice." Her words were the most naïve she had ever been. With his staff, he swiped and brought her feet from right under her, leaving her to fall to the ground with a cry and let her sword clatter behind her. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"Foolish, foolish!" He returned his staff to stand at his side in his grasp. "Do not tell me you are not afraid when you have not experienced any of those things. I will not bear to hear such words come out of your mouth. You cannot fight. You do not know what death truly is. You are _not _ready." Her eyes brimmed with tears out of frustration and her head bobbed as she swallowed the sting of them down that would curse her voice with their heaviness.

"Then teach me." Those were the words she said clearly though he wasn't sure he had heard them straight. "Teach me." She repeated, stronger and louder, rising to her feet and grabbing the sword. "You are right, but I am too, occasionally. I will not go off spinning dreams of battle in my head if you _teach me._" Her resolution was set in stone that had prophesied her coming, and he could not ignore the way she looked. Her stance was determined, her eyes spoke of fire, and her hands gripped her weapons so tightly. Her head was high, confident.

"It will be hard, long, daunting, and relentless. I will hear no complaining from you if you are colored with bruises to show for what you wish for." A single nod was his reply, and he rested his hand upon her shoulder in comfort and finalization.

-o-

His warnings were true, and even when her seventeenth year had passed, she still found herself black and blue from sparring with Gandalf. Still, her hard work had paid off. He had even found time to teach her elvish, and there was always a smile on her face on the days of her lessons. She was tall and willowy with a widened stance, and found that she could fight very well keeping a defensive stand with a sword and shield. However, when taking up the bow, it was rare for her to even come close to her mark, posture being too stiff when the string was drawn back. When she hunted and scouted the lands surrounding the cottage and came across prey that she would take down, she had to sneak very close just to have a slim chance. Gandalf found that he would spend less on meat and more on the arrows she had wasted with her poor aim.

She had changed so much, but so little. She had always had a look of determination in her face, and the two twin ragged scars on her left side of her face intensified it. What troubled Gandalf was how she had darkened. She would talk about things he had never told her or taught her about that were not in any of the books he kept around, and would give him the strangest of looks when talking about particular topics. He had feared this would happen, and berated himself on how little he had learned of Gostir and the prophecy of his return in her. He had never managed to travel to the site where the ancient words were carved into stone from the Valar above, for the journey was too long, but the time was soon approaching when he might have to.

-o-

_"The girl does not know of what will come. I thought she would be better informed, my lord." A woman's voice throughout the darkness of Zerith's mind echoed. She sounded mature, ancient, and somehow she knew the woman to be an elleth._

_ "As did I, loyal one. It will begin soon. It will consume her, of this I have no doubt." Now an old man's, who was clearly superior to the other._

_ "But it will be too early for his return. People can be… resourceful. They will find a way. They know of Gostir's name."_

_ "Silence. It will work, and even the Valar themselves will be in awe of how easily their playthings bend. Now, come, and we will talk to our master about what comes next." The man's voice faded, as did two pairs of footsteps, and Zerith was left in black silence._

A searing pain cut through her temple and chest as she woke from the dream in a cold sweat. When she saw a shadow over her, she reached for a weapon from behind her pillow, a knife, and brandished it towards the one who loomed over.

"Gandalf…" She whispered heavily, lowering her weapon as she whimpered in the pain that she tried to resist.

"Easy, now. Are you hurt? What happened?" He knelt by her bedside and took her clammy hand, and she found her words when the pain finally receded.

"I was asleep, and I had a dream. A man, and an elleth were speaking. I only heard their voices, I saw nothing but darkness. There was that name again. Gostir." She said her words slowly as Gandalf studied her face with concern. "It is always that name, no one else."

"There have been other dreams like this?"

"Strange dreams, yes, but not like this. When I woke up, there was terrible pain in my head and chest, like someone was tearing a hole out of me from inside." Shivering, she brought the blankets of her bed to her chin, and focused on her breathing as they fell into an uncomfortable silence. "Why is it always that name? You were the first person to tell me of it other than my parents. I do not understand." She muttered, looking to him for guidance.

"Always that name. I have never told you because you were not ready. I thought we both had time to sort things out. I have dreaded this day." His face was pained, and he could not look at her. He had no more words, but he had to finally tell her. The turning point had come, and neither of them were ready for it. To make up for his lack of words to give, he went and found his book on dragons that he had read that night in The Prancing Pony, and turned it to where it mentioned Gostir. She read it as though it might explain what was going on, but when the passage ended and it did not, she was filled with questions.

"Just tell me what this has to do with me." It was a simple, direct question she had settled on, and a tough one from the looks of it.

"The prophecy." He whispered, and yet she still stared on. "The soul of Gostir lies in you."

"Nothing else? You will offer me nothing else?" She stared at her bedroom window in disbelief. "Then I _am _a monster. Everything you told me was a lie, then? The fire I spurted out just because of this? Because I have a seemingly-dead dragon's soul in me, everything has happened because of it? People hate me, I feel strange, have these dreams, and everything else? How could you not _tell me?_" Her face which once offered calm tranquility was wet with tears. "That is why everyone hates me. It is the reason for everything in my life! It all makes sense, but they did not slay me as they should have. Child or not, I am just a-"

"You are not a monster, but terrible things may come to you if we do not find some way to protect you from it. I am sorry, Zerith. I have had so long to figure out how to prevent this from happening, and I have found little." His eyes were weary and voice haggard.

"What does this mean, then? What does this mark the beginning of?" It had become easier for him to answer her questions now that she knew. A great burden was lifted off of him and placed on her.

"You are more susceptible to darkness, now. Do you know who created dragons?"

"Melkor," she replied, remembering her countless days and nights spent reading and learning everything there was to know. "So, I am connected to Melkor somehow? That is comforting."

"Perhaps. None can escape his pull, nor of their vices. Gostir attempted to, but living in the Ered Lithui must have taken its toll on his will to resist such dark allure. Secrets lay in those mountains…" Gandalf paced around the room with his companion's eyes following.

"That is not good." She grumbled worriedly pulling back the blankets and crossing her legs. She repeated those words to herself over and over before finding something better to say. "So, what exactly does this mean for me? Since I breathed fire, I suppose that is one thing. Does this mean I have an inborn ability like fire-breathing dragons do or something? Does it say something in this book about it?" Tapping the front cover, she watched his pacing.

"You ask questions that I do not have an answer to, and for that, I apologize." He sat on the edge of her bed and studied her face. "Tell me, what did you feel that day that spouted fire from your breath?"

She closed her eyes, searching deep inside her mind, past the happy days the two of them shared in her new life, past the laughter of an afternoon telling stories and sharing experiences, to the times when her memory was monochrome; there, she found the rage and _pride _that threatened to alienate her upon that day when the hammer crashed down upon the anvil. She recounted their words, how they were fire, and how much they _burned her, with their laughter and smiles that shattered her patient temper._ Gathering every emotion, she spoke as if she were in a dream. "Their words were sharp knives and I lost myself. Every ounce of me fell apart that day to rebuild into someone who _was not me._ My thoughts, my words, not my own. _How dare they come to a place of my refuge and respite and intrude upon my peace!_ All at once when I tried to use calm words despite boiling anger, my voice uttered something that I had never heard before, and turned into the burning inferno. Luckily it lasted for only a second, for my panic brought me out of my spell. I felt the fire still long after it had passed, how it had touched my lips and not burned me, and _I liked the way the children screamed and practically bowed down to miss my rampage." _Her midnight blue eyes swam in shame and her voice rose an octave with every sentence. "I do not know who I had become. I do not know who I am now. I am not the Zerith I once was, and I do not think I can overcome this invisible force that wants to destroy me." With her last words, they sat in silence, watching each other, waiting for someone to speak. "You know I will try my best, but I am not strong enough…"

"You are strong enough to battle anything," Gandalf encouraged, but it was a lie. To battle a dragon from her _mind _was something no one could defeat. It was not simply another Smaug come to steal treasure and burn everything in his wake, this was a soul who desperately wanted out. There was no way to fight some monster of the mind, something that he barely knew about. He felt for the girl—woman—he had saved from living a life as a pariah, but now he would lose her so easily. "There must be some way to fix this."

"Gandalf," a question peaked the woman's interest. "You could not have been the only one to research on Gostir. I mean, I know there was the people from the Iron Hills, but certainly someone else must have wanted to know more? If that' is the case, maybe we could find them and see if they have dug up anything to help us." It was a shot in the dark, an attempt at regaining her light in darkness that would fade by the days.

He grinned at the thought, and wondered why he could have forgotten such a thing. "I believe there was one elleth who stuck her nose into more than her kind liked out of her, though that was a very long time ago. Her name was Uirien, and she had started her research just after word spread of the prophecy. She was too spirited, as I heard. The elves spoke little of her, but it would be best to search the South Downs for any signs of her."

"The South Downs? She would not be with other elves?"

"She much preferred to observe other races, but disliked isolation so she stayed close to others. Her Elf-magic was strengthened by her abundance of knowledge, but at the price of having a weak mind."

"A weak mind?"

"Yes, she was prone to corruption and darkness, for knowledge has a price and she was willing to pay it."

"You mean she is dead?"

"No, not dead. It would do her no good." Examining the ends of his sleeves, his eyes reflected great memory. "Much different from her kind, though. It would take us a few days to reach her, though you seem ill."

"Ill?" She laughed breathlessly. "Not physically, but there _is _a battle raging on that is not doing wonders for my soul, I can tell you that." Her smile did not quite have him fooled.

"Your soul is not your own." He grimly reminded, and her smile deepened as she marked the beginnings of him developing pessimism.

"Gostir is a part of me that you cannot simply replace. Who would I be but a cold, tranquil being without his fire? Without his attitude? His faults? Everyone has some darkness in them. You are the one who has taught me that, and if we can find some way to let it not consume me, that would be fine, too." Her sorrow had faded from her eyes and was replaced with determined fire, and he saw from what she said that part of it was _his _determined fire. He could imagine how her wings would fly if she were him, how she would pity man and long for freedom from invisible chains that Melkor and The Necromancer pulled. Now, he must free her from them, lest she be dragged down into the depths of moral sickness and corruption.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yay, chapter 2 is up! I will try to upload a chapter every Sunday or so unless something comes up, which will be noted. Hope you enjoyed, and remember to check next week!


	3. 3--A Shot In The Dark

Chapter Three: A Shot In The Dark

Despite his constant prodding, she was always so stubborn, insisting that she come upon the journey to learn of Uirien, using the reason that it was on her behalf, and that she would be safer and more comfortable in his company, anyway. He did agree with the point that she might be safer with him constantly around. He was not worried about highwaymen, bandits, or anything that might come to the cottage. Zerith was plenty capable of defending herself, or at the very least running and/or hiding, but there was a new dawning threat on the horizon: Gostir. Books could write him off as _redeemable,_ saying that he tried to resist Melkor's influence on him, but he had given in, and that to him was the only thing. Perhaps there was a time when he was not a terror, but that time had long passed and he doubted it would ever return. He wanted his way out of his host, feeding off of her like a parasite, so that he could return to spread his master's discord, and Valar help Gandalf if after everything both him and Graywynd had been through, he'd end up slaying _her. _He would not bear such dark thoughts.

In her eyes he saw a dark storm, a wild night where rain drenched everything and lightning cracked the sky. The skies were dark but the stars held their light throughout the moon's commanding it be covered by black. There, he could see Gostir's wings upon the high, like tattered, greying sails, weathered but resistant, strong and lasting. They sailed to places which men dreamed of, and their leather reflected fire that the owner would command; to burn or to spare._ He was her. _She would go to great places, though battered and bruised, she would still reside and have the courage to fight. She would be a Valkyrie, a catalyst for change. For good or evil, he saw all of this within a simple gaze, as though the Valar had allowed him to. He also saw the fear that ate at her, that would always because of what she knew she was. Her optimism convinced herself, and he wished it helped himself as well. Her walls were up and she flew banners from them, displaying courage and the will to fight for freedom, but they would be torn down if they could no find some way to stop the dreams from eating her away.

-o-

Dreams were a strange thing, stranger so to be a weapon. It was a time when her mind was vulnerable, when Gostir ruled instead of herself. He would show her things that she would pace to find meanings for; insanity was his reason, to drive her further to the edge where she would plummet. The dragon was not himself, no matter how filled with vice and promises he was. He was not like other reptilians of his kind who prowled Middle Earth once. He had been able to resist before, but the darkness had used the same methods to reel him in as he was doing now to the woman. Using his baser instincts of pride and greed, of offers of great power and eternal life in exchange for eternal servitude to his dying days. Even he was not able to resist such temptation, and a woman certainly could not do any better. In a way, he was serving his masters. The body he inhabited would survive forever as long as he did his duty. He had his doubts of The Necromancer who he had greater ties to, but freedom was out of reach so it was never a thought, nor was finding harmony between dragon and woman. He wanted to breathe again, she just wanted to _keep breathing_ and not have the races of Middle Earth claiming that she is a heretic and going on a hunt for her head. Right now she had little to worry about; the memory of her strange self in Edoras had faded from the Rohirrim, and she had never dealt with elven kind. Even so, her problem was getting _worse. _She feared for her life if they could not find a solution to her curse soon.

-o-

The feeling of her shield upon her back and a sword in her sheath was comforting as they traveled slowly to the South Downs, though she would prefer to stay out of combat for safety's sake. Gandalf did not need her becoming a liability, and she knew that by his careful eye. He did not seem to want friendly conversation to pass the time either, for he was quick to hurry them along. _Perhaps this is worse than I thought, _she thought to herself as they found themselves looking towards the distant hills where their destination lay, _but it is my life on the line, so I did not expect sunshine and rainbows. Gods above, pray for me. What happens if we find nothing? What happens if Uirien will not help us? What if she does not even exist? Why was this curse brought upon me? Why am I part of a prophecy that seems like it is predetermined my fate from the begi-_ She ran into a hard back in her worrying and daydreaming. Gandalf stopped at a terrible path of destruction at the very top of the shortest hill of the group before them. It was charred to the very bones of the earth, mighty pillars of smoke billowed into the sky, and winged scavengers circled the site with a tone of doom. Whatever had happened there was some sort of massive slaughter and spread of destruction that the earth would not heal very easily if at all from. Whatever creature or person brought this upon the land, she did not know, and they had not seen hide nor hair of any armies or scouting bands. A mighty monster, a deranged sorcerer, an indomitable martyr, whoever had done this was no one she would like to cross paths—or blades with. The warning signs coming from that pillar of earth kept her silent as they very slowly approached. As they traveled to climb the hill, she felt the green grass here that was wet with dew. Fresh, untarnished by animal or the tests of time, it withstood wherever it was allowed to grow, and Zerith grimaced at the thought of how so many things in this world were becoming parallel to her. _Freedom waits, or will I be taken before I lay my eyes upon paradise, even for a glimpse?_

That dreadful hill was gray and crimson, just the two dolling each other up for a grand showcase of bloodshed and burns. There were a half dozen men laying here upon the place of fate, laying their faces into mud and blood. A clear number of things had done them in; fire, blade, and some sort of unknown magic far more sinister. Their bodies were not yet stiff, and they were ghastly fresh. From what Zerith could stand to stomach, she did not have a doubt that they were from Gondor. Their hands clutched their flag of the White Tree with an ironically death-like grip. Everything about this place, the sights, and the sounds that were a stark contrast between horror and deadly silence in her point of view, the smells, the way the wild carried a foul message, it spoke of darkness and sin. She drew her sword as the two companions poked through the charred wreckage of a noble band of warriors. They had families, children, and she had believed this to be a peaceful time. There was no sign of animals that could have felled them, no footprints, nothing. If it was not for the sight, she would have thrown up by just how badly her heart was making her feel as she silently grieved for these men. She had not ever seen death like this, and it made her feel so naïve like she had regressed back to being a child who held no fear or respect for anyone.

"Whatever it was that brought these men here, it proved to be their undoing." Gandalf murmured woefully as he finished his search of an archer's pack. "Though I do not know what it was." His words fell on deaf ears, as Zerith's heart leapt out of her chest. Through her bones, her medium leather armor she wore, through her soul, it was like a ghost passed, like spirits of old had come to sing to her about her demise. Evil was its root, but something more buried within its song. It was like a fire had been extinguished within her suddenly and then let alive to roar and consume and destroy. She could not move her feet fast enough or grab her shield because her arms were so weak and their burdens too large. Spinning on her heel, she assumed a battle stance at the stranger that stood in front of them from where they had set foot. _Enemy, enemy. _She held up her sword and her strike would be her chord if this mystery presence did not reveal themselves before she lost all reasoning.

This person, this elleth, rather, was a fair face who smiled among the dead. She had come to harvest souls, standing among those who had come not for her, but for the legend she obsessed over. Her eyes were a deep steel that bore no love or true kindness, and her long, curly waves of hair billowing like a fan held mahogany tones, yet seemed to be gray and dull despite her immortality. She was dubbed in all black, and clutched a small, leather-bound book, giving the pair a 'friendly' look of an unmarred face and staring down at the men who lay broken before her. _"I am Uirien. I suggest that you look for a better place to travel to, Gandalf. People will think you are… up to something."_ Drawn back to the slippery sweat of her shaky hand on the hilt of her weapon, Graywynd's posture was stiff and still, breathless and silent. _Always let the wise, old one do the talking when dealing with crazy old bats._

"You have done this, then? Killed innocent men who only wanted to protect their land?" Gandalf mimicked his companion in stance and she was surprised that he did not just blast her rump off the hill as soon as she could say 'Dragon'.

"_Innocent?_ A strange time to be roaming the wilds for them, then. They were not protecting their land by being out here, they were hunting a myth. When they came upon me who could provide them with information on said myth, the fools based conclusions on whatever silly reasoning their dim-witted minds could conjure up. So, I was forced to do the conjuring myself by means of fire." She was arrogant by the way she spoke and tilted her head to bring about superiority Zerith knew was simply a ruse.

"And they did not stay their hand after you tried to speak to them?" The dragon-souled one found her courage enough to spit back a retort, narrowing her eyes at the elf who was sorely running out of time. _Could I actually take her when she killed all of them with barely a scratch on her? Gandalf could, but me, I would not stand a chance. _

A cold laugh ran chills down her spine. "They do not know how to stay their hand, pretty one, and besides," Touching the banner of Gondor, it erupted into flames and became nothing but specks of ash in the breeze, "I do not mind a fight that is weighed heavily in my favor." _Great, just what we need, an elf out for blood and plenty of it._

"She lies, Gandalf! Why would they even come for her?" Panic made her voice rise in accusation as she watched the wizard who was always known for his composure. _Blasted man who always seems right as rain. The wisest and most caring man I have ever met, but I am waiting for him to do something and soon…_

A stern look from Gandalf kept the young woman's mouth shut. _This is for my sake, my sake… _By now, her mind was racing and her heart was beating with a fast fury.

"I know what you have come for, fated child of freedom," The elven woman's words dug into her brain and seemed like they were said to mock her. "You were a fool to come. You should have let Gandalf go alone, and you would have met a quick fate. Such a pity." Her mouth was turned upwards in a gruesome grin. "His presence is the only thing that has been protecting you from being corrupted by your dreams, but even _he _is not all-knowing and powerful. Such is to be expected." She turned away from them to watch the setting sun.

"I did not think you would know of me, but being a seeker of knowledge, I should have known better." Gandalf's voice was strained, covering the venom laced within. "You can give us information on her curse, though?"

"Curse!" The word was cackled and Zerith broke into a shivering fit. That word pierced her brain and heart just as the searing pain had when she had that dreadful dream. "She's blessed with power that should not be taken away. Even if it is used for evil, none can deny its greatness! However, we both have needs that the other can fulfill, so I will tell you what I know, and perhaps help beyond that if I deem the girl worthy enough of my trying." The crimson speckled into Uirien's head shown the sun's light in it as it dried.

"And that need of yours would be?"

Turning to face them, the seeker of knowledge tilted her head with a throaty chuckle. "I want to live and not see this world be tarnished, as so much I can reap from would be lost, and you want to help the girl control her gift. Simple, no?" _That simple? Surely there is a catch. _"You know of what is at stake. Her life and the lives of others hang in the balance, as well as the rise of dark forces, though their return is inevitable regardless of her. I have no doubt you have hidden her from others, but you cannot keep her locked up forever. To protect her from influence, I have found something rather interesting…" Ushering them to the opposite side of the hill from where they arrived, they noticed a small camp was pitched surrounded by some rocks at the foot of the slope. The fire was still roaring, casting a warm glow upon a tent and table covered with a strange array of items. Dozens and dozens of books stacked a safe distance from the fire, ores in orderly fashions lined up, bottles, elixirs, rare alchemical ingredients, and frantic scribbled notes on research materials. Her fear of this witch brought her to stay behind Gandalf in her apprehension.

"I hope this woman does not turn me into a toad…" She whispered under her breath, watching the old elleth scamper over to her ingredients, touching them with delicate fingers and saying something to herself all the while as she went over some of her writings in the process.

"Oh, no! I would never turn you into one of those foul beings! Then you would have no use…" When the cackling one's voice darkened, Zerith shook her head with a wide look of distraught. "You certainly do not know much about me..."

She cleared her throat nervously. "I have been left in the dark about most of this. I do not even know what's wrong with me, and I have been seeking the answers for years now."

Zerith jumped and Gandalf held out a protective arm when the elf spun around, madness in her wide, glaring eyes. "Let me spell it out for you, _princess._ You know the dragon's inside you. In fact, I wonder if you had your own human soul to begin with, but never mind that. The more you become one with the Traitor, the greater your abilities are, but it leaves you prone to darkness invading you. We would not want you to lose your _purity._ I can protect you from this darkness, but it comes with a price. You—"

"What if I do not want these abilities? I do not know what they are, and I have done fine without them. As long as I do not use them, I will be safe." Despite her wisdom that sometimes arose, the dark-haired shield-wielding lass was incredibly naïve, though it was not completely her fault. She just wanted clarity.

Gandalf could not move to the girl's aid fast enough as Uirien seized her hands in her own, their faces inches apart. The elf wore a look of disdain, the girl, desperation and anger mixed as a fruitless cocktail.

"If you want to remain true to yourself, you will have to use them. If you want to find all of those happy little emotions people of this land rely on to get by, you will need them. All of your fiery breath, your willpower, to save your pitiful life!" Uirien's rich voice spat in her face, felling her barriers and walls within herself. _I continue circling with all this hate and agony, and there's no room for anything else. Pity, for myself? Never. If this is what the Valar wanted, I must suffer, but I will still fight._ "Fear can claim what little remains of you, so if you want to survive and not be a soulless ghoul, you will do what I say and keep that mouth of yours shut before I force it shut. I have a grimoire somewhere with a spell like that…"

_You will not do anything?_ Gandalf stood, and her gut wrenched at his undying gaze and stillness. _You will not do anything. You cannot. We are both left in the dark. _"I-I will do anything to protect myself, but I would like to know more about the prophecy, and, well, everything, please. I am not some test subject for an experiment of yours, though." Gandalf was clearly clueless by bringing her to such a vile person, but he was preoccupied with travelling and he had learned little of her.

"It is simple. The Traitor was to be reborn—"

"Gostir's called the Traitor?"

"Yes, because he did not fall prey to greed and temptation like the rest of his kind. I thought I told you to keep quiet—"

"Forgive me!"

"Yes, well, the Traitor was to be reborn again at a time of darkening days. So, somehow you were chosen, and learned that you were different from mortal men. Now, speak, how did you learn and when?" The elf's grip tightened on her wrists as they never broke eye contact. Zerith could feel heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment.

"Eleven winters of age, in a bout of fury I breathed flame." Her reply was shaky, frightened. _Try not to think what she ate, stay calm…_

"How you have managed to stay sane all this time is surprising, human. Now, from what I have read," she let Zerith go, turning to the fire reaching out to warm her hands and study its flickering, "anger is what would bring up a rampant soul buried so deep, but such emotion is not required the closer a soul is to its host, at least in your case. This means that you have two choices, to go into a dream-sleep, which would allow you to connect with Gostir as two individuals and have a better mastery and understanding of his hold on you, or you could not chance it, rather having to keep that foolish temper of yours under control unless you want to burn someone's face off accidently. Your choice, and who knows? You might be able to do more than speak fire, but that is off-putting on its own." _To turn my will to live into a weapon? Great, now I' will make a hard choice that will cost me gravely either way. _In her desperation, she turned to Gandalf, eyes pleading for input. _Come on, I expected you to say more in all of this._

"Getting comfortable with a dragon connected to Melkor is not recommended, but it very well might come to that in the end. I will let you choose, Zerith, but do so wisely. So much is at stake, and I cannot bear the thought of what might come of this evil." The wizard's eyes were soft, mouth drawn into a tight line. _He pities me, she feigns pity for me, and I feel nothing about my condition. What a trio we are._

"The choice is clear, then. Tell me what I need to do for this 'dream-sleep' of yours." The choice was not clear, it was all a lie. _This has to be some cruel joke or dream, and I will wake up and laugh about everything. _It was not, and as Uirien silently beckoned her to lay comfortably in the camp's tent, she heard none of Gandalf's warnings to the elleth, their hushed arguing and the crackle of fire, nor of the crickets chirping in the night. As she lay in the warmth of crimson blankets, she stared up at the darkness of canvas imagining that it could be her silent companion, or perhaps it might give her some advice on her problems. _At least I have some peaceful minutes of alone time, now. I wonder what our favorite crazy witch is doing._ Twiddling her thumbs, the sound of her steady breathing was the only thing she concentrated on. _There is nothing more I can do now. It is done. Hope stay with me, Gods…_

The night passed with little sleep from anyone, especially Zerith. Uirien spent the midnight hours researching and boiling up some concoction Zerith did not even want to think about. As she tossed and turned, she caught the faint whisperings of the elleth as she feverishly worked.

"Need to remember….have to work for…hate how he…."

It became a soft lull to her, and slowly the sounds receded into dreamless sleep under waning stars. Exhaustion had grown from seeds of anguish and fear, though she might have buried it deep within herself and concealed it from those whose eyes would wander. In such a short period of time, she had been ripped away from normalcy and peace of mind. Paranoia of becoming an abomination flooded her thoughts constantly, and she had always been kept up on Gandalf's trek to find Uirien. Habitually she would sit under the heavens to feel their serene glow as though it might be her last night of _feeling. _Emotions and thoughts to be lost, so easily? To be taken over by her own soul which made up every part of her being was unimaginable. She would not let herself become a monster. It would end by her hand if she lost her footing on the edge of her world.

-o-

A gray dragon in the sun, in the sky, always watching. A mirror image of a human girl marked disgrace for the serpentine creature. He longed to destroy every ounce of her, to make her bend her knee and submit, yet his brain flashed with uncertainty. It was not always like this, his corruption, his true bond to evil. There had been an age where he was a traitor to his own kind and his parental figures. When he saw mortal kind, Gostir saw strength that no force could ever take away. Melkor, the most powerful of his kind, though bound by chains still had influence upon his soul. Gostir doubted he was the last dragon, but he was living no longer. He was a fragment in time, a piece of history preserved eternally within a _woman._ With this in mind, he imagined himself spreading discord among those who prowled Middle Earth. It would be so easy to have people in his claws, for innocence was life's greatest illusion, and a young woman could play that part well. She was no normal mortal, which he knew with all the truth of his blood, even without his soul living inside her, and he found himself pondering who she would have been without him. A warrior, no, she would give up on it because of the men's scorn without his fire to keep her feet dancing. A wife he could not see within her, not a normal one to take care of young ones all day and night. With him, she had not the patience or the temperament to submit to a man. Her scars did not help either, though she would have been revered as attractive by women's and men's standards. They were two ragged pink lines that brought out her stubborn wildness that made his nostrils puff with smoke. She was a wild little thing, and to have so much control over a canvas was a painter's dream. He would draw her up in blood and lies. Gostir's wings would forever darken the land with his permanent residence inside her.

Permanent was not a word that sounded well off to the dragon. He wanted his own body back, and in his greed he _would _have it. All he needed to do was serve his master and let Mordor cover man's land in black, and he would be able to comfortably lay on a bed of treasure and encrust himself in lavish frivolity. No matter his loyalties or feelings, he was a dragon, and few would come close to stopping him. There was the Necromancer to bind him with weakness, but no one else would stand in his way. Gostir was never one to let things pass peacefully.

He knew what Zerith was up to. The stirrings in his breast of swirling connections to the open world struck him breathlessly. No longer would he be resigned to a black infinite space of unlife. The girl would come for possession, and he would finally be able to reclaim his lost mountain-throne on one of the highest ridges of Ered Lithui. He could have freedom again, freedom from a master he never truly wanted to serve, and a mortal was not to be stopping him.

-o-

The pieces were in place. No more preparation for the dream-sleep, a confrontation with Gostir which would be weaponless. It had always been a choice without choices for Zerith, and as dawn peaked, the deathly cold dread filled her breath. It might be the last time she would ever see with her own eyes, and she made sure to take in everything. The green rolling hills that marked the landscape, the pointy slope of Gandalf's hat, his smile that reached warm eyes, the unusual look from Uirien bearing uncertain feelings, and the feeling of dew on her fingers. She would return changed, or she would not return at all. Zerith or Gostir would return. The odds she had mentally calculated were not in her favor.

"I am ready." With bated breath, Zerith's words rang strong and clear of wavering. "What must I do?" Clear to the point, concisely drawn. She put up her last walls her strength could hold, but her hammering heart was a battering ram.

Uirien brought a pot of steaming _something _over along with a cup, and the girl, elleth, and Istari wizard placed themselves before a crackling fire. On leaning over to look at the crock's contents, Zerith had noticed two things: one, that it was some sort of deep red tea, and two, that it was very strong and reminded her of cool, colorful autumn days laying in piles of fallen leaves. _Gross, most likely. Witch's brews always have some sort of funk about them._

Uirien smiled widely, a glint in her eye that caused Zerith to shiver. _Why is Gandalf letting me do this? _"The soul you will be meeting is strong and bitter. Tea is strong and bitter. Do you see how such simple things can overwhelm you? Yes, a cupful of the mixture will do for you, I think…" _Great, rambling on and on. Just what I need to get this over with._

Zerith filled the cup with steaming sanguine tea, blowing on it as she tried to calm her nerves. "What will I encounter in this dream-sleep?" She broached, mind racing with flashing vision. _Stay calm, stay calm. Be strong, strong…_

Sternness made Uirien sit up tightly straight, giving a glare as she spoke. "You will not be yourself. Gostir will not be inside you, it will be as though you were meeting him when he were still alive long ago. Since this will be so, you will not have the same personality. He has much more influence on your every state than you know, and more than can easily be overcome. He will tempt you, give you offers, or try to weaken you in numerous ways. Do not let him. Do not tell him your name, either. Such personal things that we might share with one another commonly is too much to give to him. Your goal while in a dream-sleep is to outmaneuver your opponent. Whatever the dragon's main feeling or wish is could mean your freedom."

"My freedom? There cannot be myself without him. Such intimacy shared between souls is a bond that cannot be broken. Crush him to embers, and he will reignite into me. Perhaps this is his nature, a nature of evil that cannot be ripped from a dragon, and I am a fool to give him a chance of redemption. He was no normal dragon, but he could be now. I am not so ignorant to deny the facts which make up my lifeblood. If there is no way to reach his heart, which was never black like his kind, then I will set in place my self-destruction." It was a speech that came out of the black-haired young lady's mouth though she did not consider it to have much meaning. In an instant of signing away her life to whatever god might listen to her, she drank the rich liquid, relishing in its taste, and she plunged herself into the abyss.

* * *

**Dun dun dunnnnnn! Next chapter we're going to feature our mysterious dragon in all his glory. Yeah, I'm taking probably more than a few liberties with dragons, but I'm making out Gostir to be different from the rest in a sense that he can resist vices that plagued his kind. Even Melkor's influence was able to be resisted by him, but he made a foolish choice in making a home in Ered Lithui, which will be explained sometime. Maybe next chapter. Anyway, reviews are appreciated, and stay tuned for next chapter!**

**Note- If anyone wants to make a cover image for this story, I'd love that. This is going to be a pretty long tale, as we're still pre-LOTR and it will feature the Fellowship onwards to the destruction of the Ring. Later on, Saruman will play a large part, as well as our creepy witch, Uirien. Everyone has some light and dark in them, so the characters in Graywyngs aren't all they seem to be. I like to write 'gray' stories so that the reader is conflicted about their feelings and dispositions to the characters. It makes a story so much more memorable. :) Hope everyone's enjoying!**

**Gostir: You'd better give me more spotlights in the future. This dragon is going to go Fus Ro Dah on you.**

**Uirien: Why all the stereotypical witchy references? I'm fabulous and you know it.**

**Gandalf: I have nothing to say in this chapter. **

**Zerith: So you decide to put my life on the line so early in the story? Good for you, author. *sarcasm***


	4. 4--Puppet Master

Chapter Four: Puppet Master

_ Gone. _From behind her eyelids, Zerith's world soared by in a myriad of colors. She was plunged into an emptiness that left pain stabbing at her breast and pounding her head with the hammer of the world of the restless. Drowning, drowning now, Zerith sank into a black darkness with crashing waves over her head. There could not be any air that would come to relieve her lungs. To scream for help was fruitless; she was in the depths of her mind where her soul flew free from her. The Valar were the only ones she could call to for help as she lost control of breath and hope. _The witch would not dare to poison me, would she?_

Though she did not trust Uirien, she doubted she had the stones to try to kill her. _Well, who knows? My fate will come or it will not._ While wasting time pondering the idea, her lungs burned with a fury and no amount of frantic swimming produced results. Her hand shot up and felt the coolness of air upon it, and as she prepared to let herself sink to unknown depths, she found that the suffocation of waters enveloping her had disappeared. The hand had been taken, and air from above hit her face wildly. Her eyes saw nothing but darkness, yet Zerith had the realization that she was _flying._

To where, who could say? She let whoever—or whatever—carry her through the darkness of the place her soul dwelled. Her short flight quickly over, she was left falling somewhere, and she begged the gods for sight so that she might not go mad in this place. _Remember what Gandalf and the witch said._ The resolute words were ones she would repeat to the ends of her days.

With a cry of pain, ground appeared before her eyes and she met it head on. Any strength had left her body, and she had never felt so weak. It was as if someone had drained any fortitude and spirit from her. _I will not give it up so easily to whatever ails me. I have many fights left to go._ How she had not broken anything, Zerith could not even hope to guess. Gazing up to where the sky was replaced with darkness, a shadow of a figure loomed over her and left chills down her spine. The icy pierce of fear struck her, and she stood with a grimace. She did not need to catch a glimpse of the scaly beast to know it was he. Mustering any reserve, she would fight the unseen menace.

"_Gostir!" _She called with a snap, eyes widening at how lifeless and drained her voice was. _Already, my strength wanes, and I am to face him? Folly. _Still, the dragon was nowhere to be seen, though she felt his presence. "Speak, or prove your cowardice!"_ Am I really challenging a dragon?_

A sickening laugh rose in the air, and Zerith stumbled at its might. "Y-you take amusement at me? Come then, for I will provide much more!" Her words were emotionless and gray, but they were persuasive enough, for in swift motion, he appeared in front of her with a thud and gust of air that tousled her hair.

Here, in the place of privacy Zerith could not be blessed with, lived an enigmatic figure. He was the raging fire within her call, and the ice in her voice. The cooling rain of her tears, and the renewing life of rest and relaxation. He and she were one in the same. She gave him air to fill his needy lungs and views of the world he longed to venture with his own form, and in return, he was her emotion and her power. Power came with a price that she would have to pay and he would take everything she could give. Just life, her life, and then the chains that bound him to the consequences of living so close to his master's best lieutenant would be broken. History would tell that every bind would break, for the coming of Dagor Dagorath. The world will be unmade, and the girl would be unmade for Gostir's freedom. He drew parallels that left him feeling guilty, but cast out were the feelings of care and devotion to anyone but himself. Once, he had wished to aid Men. Once, he was a fool. He could only come to care for his being, and the reaching grasp he labored to recall memories of good in him were too fatiguing to bear their weight any longer.

He stood before her, the mighty beast, and she observed two dragons. The first, a tarnished, old weary serpent who was crushed by evil and nature. The second, the more palpable evil being who dared to plague her mind with faint whispers of corruption that would grow to drown out her human life. Narrow dark gray spikes made up his armor, and his speckled scales shone dully as though he were sick or had his life essence taken from him. His eyes were voidless red slits that spoke of wisdom and dominance. Such was the way of dragons, she noted to herself as she stared up at him. He was larger than many homes combined and Zerith could not fathom his span. She was drawn to him as much as she drew back, for they had a striking resemblance to each other. The same looks were worn upon their weary faces. No tales that she ever had read about him could truly tell of his life and fight, and she bowed before him, overcome with an oppressive feeling of honor. Her wit failed her, as honor and Melkor would not mix.

"You have tongue though I have left you," He rumbled, still as a statue, words echoing off the confines of her instincts. "Feeling weak, fresh meat? Emotionless? _Wraith-like?_" Her ears hurt with the volume and depth of his chortle. "It is just as well. You have been thrown into a place where weapons are nothing. I am afraid to tell you that there is no going home from here. Throw away your life, your love, your dreams and wishes and hopes! You are lost, now, as am I. It is true that the witch has not been truthful or trustworthy. Few would help a monster, but she is not few. She works for the rewards given by my master, and she knew how valuable you were. The ending days are coming, fresh meat, and we are bound to work for the wrong side. Ah," He sighed, blowing a gust of steam and smoke upon her, "fate is cruel. But is this fate, or destiny? I am destined to do bad for it is in my nature. Your destiny is not known by me, for the races of Middle Earth are so picky. Can we call this fate, though?" He watched unblinking as she struggled to find words to reply.

"I am not knowledgeable. I know little of what I was born to be, or who you are or who I am. I ask for you to tell me." _Beg of him nothing, for he will use you. Demand of him nothing, for he will eat you. Stay calm, Zerith. _She repeated simple words to herself, voicelessly, to calm fear and keep her wits.

She thought she saw him grin, though it was gone in a blink. His breath rang in her ears as he began a long telling of history. "I will honor your _request,_ fresh meat, for I doubt you are useful while ignorant. In the days of my waking, I flew above the Northern Wastes. The Withered Heath intrigued me little, and it was only a visage to my waking eyes as I flew above white. Instead, I preferred to observe Men. Virtue and vice embodied them, and they were true mortals of the land. The epitome of the balance of life. I sensed darkness approaching on the horizon, when they would fall and be consumed in the wind and their own deficits, and I went to them. 'Heed my words.' Said I, 'You must prepare for war. I know not what comes, but your livelihood will pass into shadow and you will be decimated.' Few accepted my speech for truth, but a small number took a leap, a chance. One was a young woman with ebony in her hair and the icy sea in her eye. I beckoned her and her kind to join me, to learn as dragons do, to use their voices as fiery flames and forceful gusts. She believed everything I said, every ounce of wisdom I could pass on was a bout of giddiness in her heart. Then, it was I who fell into shadow. I flew past where my brethren were born, and to the Ash Mountains. I had only come to learn of what would dare to harm the people who had disregarded my warnings, but I left, becoming the thing I had ached to protect them from. Somehow, they sensed that I had taken a foul air to me, and met me west of the Iron Hills, close to my brethren. I had not the heart to fight them as they tore into me. The last of them who had come to fight was the woman. She was pale and weak, eyes lost in tears at betrayal. I saw in her that my teachings had become corrupted, just as I had, and she struck the final blow to me and died, overcome with inner turmoil and grief. For a while, her soul plagued me with feelings of regret at the silence I had often succumbed to in order to hide my feelings towards her. Then, she became a girl from the city of the White Tree who longed for stars to guide her way, and I was her guiding light. Still, without my own body, I could not fight my corruption, and I focused my time serving my master. Now, she stands before me still, and I must serve him even so. My teeth to his neck." Gostir spat in anger.

A recounting of history left her wishing he had been silent. She was unmade, to think that she had once been someone far in history who she had never heard of. It could not be, she hoped. "Let me understand this. I am supposedly the reincarnation of the girl who once was your apprentice, the one who slew you? Why did you tell me of all of this?" Her heart hammered and she felt faint. Stars danced in front of her eyes and Gostir was clouded in shade.

"What makes you think you will be leaving this place?" The gray dragon asked, tilting his head with a puff of smoke. "I have tried for years."

"But you are controlled by your master and do not have a physical form. I have no Dark Lord hanging over my head, and I have walked Middle Earth."

"Foolish girl," He growled in a sudden outburst. She thought that he might gobble her up, as his snout was inches from hers. "If I am controlled, then you cannot escape it. Your physical form only exists because I allow it to." He would be the big bad wolf if her cloak was dyed red.

"Why, though? Why are we connected? Why could the dead not remain so?" Her voice strained to not quiver.

"The Valar have a strange sense of humor, perhaps. Maybe we are not done in our workings of the world. In the past life, I was thunder upon the high, and a teacher. In the past life, the woman was a rebel, a fighter, and a guide. Though it is certain I could have had more rippling results if I had done what she had, my work would be lost. Who trusts dragons? Fools. Gullible men. Who trusts women? Many more souls. Through her my voice sounded, my fire burned, and my scales protected."

"You mean to say that our relationship is similar?"

"No," He rumbled, warm breath upon her face, "they are the same. You will use your hands to create and destroy, and I can give you the power to do so." With these words, she felt the tide shift. In a shiver, she felt a pull to him and felt the need to give in. This weakness, and the desire to accept and follow him, was echoed in history, though she could not remember where.

"The girl's name." Zerith stuttered, backing away quickly. "What was it? What is our connection?" Her change of subject brought the dragon to growl impatiently, though his eyes were emotionless.

"Her own people called her Satherra. You are one and the same. She was of noble blood, oldest daughter of the leader of those who lived too close to dragons and preferred their hearts to be as cold as ice."

"The Lossoth?" She had heard that there were few people living up to the north in the Third Age, but she was sure of one, whom Gandalf had spoken of.

"No, though they quarreled with each other. The people who slew me and some of my lesser, minute brethren were known as the Tarakona. Proud and stubborn were they, to forget my words and succumb to what I had warned them of. They were known to be renowned dragonslayers though they were not overly strong that they could exterminate many of my brethren. I believe their highest populations reside between the Mountains of Angmar and the Gray Mountains, though a few still remain west of the Iron Hills, where I died. It was there that the prophecy was struck into the very earth, to remain even as grass grew and sand shifted." Gostir rolled his neck, looking to where the moon and sun would pass if the sky were there, and the silence grew uneasy.

"You remember many things." Zerith murmured. "What does the prophecy say?"

The dragon whipped his tail around to barely miss her head. Zerith ducked, and reached for weapons, but just as she had felt the molded leather grip of her sword sheathed in her belt, it crumbled to dust at her feet, along with her shield. _I should have brought a dagger._ She was left defenseless, and she doubted her leather cuirass would save her from anything. At her reaction, Gostir laughed with a great blue breath that chilled the air. He turned to face her again in an instant, and continued to guffaw as he stared down. "I play with you, fresh meat. Your face is priceless. To answer your question, I do not know what the prophecy says. I was hoping you would know for yourself, since it would be most useful."

"How can I find out? You say that I will never leave this place. I am trapped here." The young woman sighed with a trembling lip. Her heart ached for the life she would never see again.

"You cannot leave without me. I am your soul, and without it, you would be but a warm body, simply existing. However, if you allow yourself to accept my hold on you, you may go back and forth from this realm of spirits and the physical world. I can give you many gifts." It was tempting, but Zerith knew she needed to remember how dangerous the dragon could be. Without him, she was nothing, but with him, she could be everything the world did not need.

"Just tell me what you can provide for me. Explain this talk of 'gifts'." Her impatience irritated him, as he blew smoke from his spiked nostrils in her face and put her into a bout of a coughing splutter, but he would oblige her.

"In time, as we get stronger together, you will take my voice for your own, and speak in flame and frost, as well as others. Your ancestor gives you willpower, resilience, and strength. Perhaps one day you will fly with wings of your own." _Suspicious albeit interesting bait dangling on a hook before me._

"How does my ancestor give me such things? I thought Satherra had died along with you. You cannot imply that she had children…"

"No, she was a free spirit who preferred to be alone and without family. She was captivated by someone, but her feelings, as she told me, were surely unrequited. When we both perished, her spirit moved on to the place of peace the Tarakona believed in, but I was forced to pace in a restless limbo. Something had interfered with my passing, and my soul was trapped until the day of divine interference. Now, I live in you, and Satherra guides your steps and every motion."

"Is there a catch to you offering me such power?" Zerith questioned, gritting her teeth and crossing her arms as she watched the brute stretch his wings.

"A catch? There is always a catch. Catch it if you can!" The dragon roared with laughter, quickly dying off. "Yes, there is. When you return to your world, you must take up Satherra's name in her honor, learn of the prophecy, and find a shard of my egg in the Withered Heath. This is only the beginning, I feel."

"Am I right in assuming I need to find someone of the Tarakona to find the prophecy-stone? And your egg? You want me to find some shard that lies in a large, barren valley that may or may not be inhabited by lesser dragons?"

"As I said," Gostir rumbled, "this is only the beginning. Pack warm clothing, weapons, and plenty of food, and you will survive. You mortals make everything so complicated."

"Do you jest? I am not a one-woman army. You are asking for me to travel across half of Middle Earth, through many perils, just for a stone and an egg shard?"

Gostir chortled at Zerith's frustrations. "Perhaps you ask for a taste of power? I shall teach you to breathe flame as I do. You have experience in doing so, but it has only been accidental."

"Breathe fire? You are a cold drake, and yet you claim to spit flame and bear wings? What has turned you to be so?"

"Time and brooding, fresh meat, time and brooding." He let out a narrow burst of flame into the air. "In my time waiting for whatever fate would claim me in this land of souls, I changed. Life is mysterious. Now, silence yourself, and I will teach you what I know so that you may use it anytime." He produced a pleased look when he saw the singular attention given to him reflected in her eyes. "You are only able to call upon my traits if you have an open connection to your soul. Tell me of the time you first spoke fire."

It pained her to remember the endless days running throughout Minas Tirith. She could only see her mother's curly, bouncing hair, the way her nimble fingers made plaits so easily and toiled away day by day to provide a home for her only child. When the fall came and her father went off to protect the city, and the coldest sting of her mother's worst fear coming with a late night knock on their door. With winter came silent scorn from mother dearest, and fire brought abandonment. Zerith had tried her hardest to forget the longing that came when she thought of her old life.

"A knock upon my door from abusive and hateful people that normally would have brought sorrow and self-hate only brought burning rage. I felt a great pressure building like the swell of a flood, and when I opened my mouth to reply to their spiteful words, out came a burst of flame that sent them running. I will never forget the way my mother mentioned your name, or the sting of tears upon her banishing me." Zerith's words were steady and slow, swallowing down the bitterness of memories aching in her heart.

"You have learned that anger and fury causes flame. For every element of the world, there is a corresponding emotion. Few dragons know anything else than flame, but those who do have deep roots in the earth. I gift my knowledge of fire's workings to you, as I had to Satherra, long ago." With his exhale, a warm glow emanated in the space between his collarbone and heart, and a flow of energy was transferred from him to her. The great pull Zerith felt fluttered her hair, and she felt as though embers smoldered inside where she saw the dragon glow. When Gostir spoke further, he sounded exasperated. "We are connected, you and I, until your death."

"You wish me dead, then. It would give you freedom."

"I do not want that. My master wants my freedom. Even if you were gone, I would not be free. His gaze would forever loom over me. Here, when we may speak in the depth of your mind, is the only place where his sight does not scan." He dipped his head and rested it upon the ground, closing his eyes and giving a look of deep contemplation. The only sound that echoed was his rumbly breathing.

"You want me to honor you. Take up your apprentice's name, find a prophecy, and your egg shard. What a typical arrogant dragon." Zerith snorted, dropping to her knees to sit in front of him. "You know, you did not need to help me at all. You could have just used the dragon-spell." She thought that he might have been asleep, for he did not reply to her for a long while.

"It would be of no use to me to control you. You must be you, plain and simple, and not me. You must not forget who you are, and who you remind me of."

"You were very close, then."

"Satherra was unique. Not like most mortalkind. I do not know what she saw in me. Dragons are very well-versed and persuasive, but none of the Tarakona believed in my words, save for her. The others who followed me were only those devoted to her, and even they disbanded. It was always her, and something more. Alas, the past is not worth remembering for it changes little now…" He made her attempt to seek out grief in his utterances, but there was nothing. It was the monotony that weighed him down. "Enough. You have exhausted my weakness for speech long enough. Do as I have said and do not dally."

"How long do I have?" She inquired softly, rising to a stand as he did so.

"Theoretically, forever. Your body will not succumb to the Gift of Men so long as I remain in you. Do not forsake that, though, and remember that danger comes with procrastination. I can predict your next words, fresh meat. 'How will we meet again? Must I come across the witch who boils me up poisoned bubbly to lure my body into a dream state?' You will come to me in dreams if I allow it. It is the safest way of communication without invading your consciousness." He craned his neck to great heights, and stiffened his posture. "Now, begone thee—"

"Wait!" She shouted at his dismissal. "You have given me the ability to use fire breath when I need it, but I do not know how to actually produce it."

The scaled one raised his head up in a roaring laugh before coming down to look at her with thin crimson eyes. "A test run before a real fight. I will indulge you. When teaching men how to fight, experienced warriors talk much about posture. It is just the same. Raise your chest, stretch your neck, mouth widened, and feel the simmering of the flame inside of your bosom." She did as he said, taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly. Something boiled and twisted in her heart and with his every word she felt a pulsing pressure. "Emotion is key, fresh meat. Imagine the heat and rage of battle, the quickness of your stride and the ungraceful slow slosh of your enemies. They insult you by thinking they can best you in battle. You wish the battle to be over quickly, and the fire needs to be let loose; its purpose being to consume and destroy. Yet fire is so much more than what mortals make it to be. It gives life. Relax the fury in you that it arouses, and feel the heat of a campfire beneath your fingers."

"Starting small, are we?"

"Quit your chirping, woman. The sting of winter freezes your skin, and fire is your savior. Call upon it. It is gentle, for a little is enough to change everything."

Eyes shut, face restful, Zerith took a shallow breath in, savoring the heat rising up in her throat, and let it out, slowly. The dance of flame flickered beneath her eyelids and restored the life in her cheeks. When she allowed herself a flutter of the heart to see again, her breath was a narrow flicker of flame. Just enough, as Gostir said, to change everything.

"Not bad, fresh meat. Since you seem to act like it comes easy to you, use your full power. Test your might. _Burn _me, if you have the gut for it!"

The girl and the dragon were connected in a blaze with her silent scream that commanded the air.

-o-

The daze of a thousand year sleep sat on her chest, and Zerith found it difficult to open her eyes or move. She heard nothing and could not seem to remember where she was, but the silence alarmed her, and she struggled to awaken herself. The world swam in monochromatic blurs and air left her lungs for a split second before everything raced back.

In an instant, her eyes shot open, and was disappointed to see that she was still viewing up, she felt rough canvas beneath her fingertips. _The tent. _Zerith realized that she had been lying in Uirien's camp, left in the same place as she had been before. Her heart beat too slowly at a drowsy resting state, and she hurried out of the tent sluggishly. Outside, the wind's crying call was the only thing to pierce the hillside air, and she was left alone. A call for her previous two companions would only be foolhardy. As she tried to stand, her vision blackened, and she was quick to sit cross-legged before the long-cold fire. She ran her hands through where she begged embers to lay, but she felt only the silky smoothness of ash and soot and coolness. They had left her a while ago, and it did not seem as though they would be back soon, for as she looked around the odd camp, she saw that many things had been taken and few left behind. Zerith's shield had disappeared, and she was left with only the sword at her belt, sending a silent prayer to the Valar that its disintegration had not been permanent. It was strange for Uirien and Gandalf to have taken off so quickly, especially in her unconscious state, and she grew bitter with anger at the witch who had most certainly tricked both Gandalf and her. It was not wise to trust her so easily, but she had followed Gandalf to the letter. Even so, he was gone, and the thought brewed worry. _If that elleth has done anything to him, she will meet my flame…_

Zerith took ten minutes to recover from her fatigue, and began to search the camp for useful information and supplies. The wind was picking up with biting cold and stars made their descent upon her. She would not stand to stay here for long, as it was too exposed and she did not know who prowled the hills at night. Still feeling weak, she was quick to gather up as many books, tools, and food as she could, piling them into spare bags and tying her cloak tightly around her body. She left only a small golden leaf pin Gandalf once gifted to her as a symbol that she had come and gone.

-o-

Zerith stood by the windowsill of her room back at her cottage, watching fluffy flakes of snow drift in the outside air. It had been two months since receiving her task, and the day had finally come when her life would end, and another would begin. Eighteen years ago she had been born of human body and dragon soul, and she had come so far to have gained nothing. _Is this what elves feel? _She asked herself, touching her twin scars subconsciously. _Winter has come with a grim conclusion. I must face my battles alone. No more will a Maiar hold my hand and guide me through every hardship. He has gone away, perhaps left me, and I am alone. I must learn of my own destiny to shape my fate, and that of others. Yet I am alone in this cold and I feel no hope or determination. Solitude has aged me beyond my years. I must take the name of Satherra and let go of Zerith, though not forget her. She was a carefree, lively young one who knew no fear or pain. With the sun rose her happiness, and with the moon calmed her spirit. Now, I am chained to a life I did not choose, and I am alone. It is bittersweet to start anew. _Zerith was one to brood on things too much, and as she turned away from the bright white of winter, she stared down at her travelling gear, running her hands on the metal of her twin blades, a shortsword and dagger, which she sheathed in leather straps upon her back. She had enough dried food to last her half of the way to Edoras strapped to a horse she had bought in Bree. Doubting she would go through all of it, she still reminded herself that she had practiced enough to turn her measly skill with a bow into a somewhat decent tool that she was able to take down some wildlife. With profits she had made from selling leather and other goods she had gathered, she had enough coin to make the journey and back from wherever it might lead. She was glad to have bought a bay horse from Bree when she did, for traversing was starting to get difficult as seasons changed. Gostir had named the stallion Applegrabber after his knack for mischief and trouble, and the name stuck. He stood under a makeshift shed under a large, evergreen fir tree, calmly swishing his tail and blinking at the white flakes that caught in his eyelashes. Applegrabber was a loyal friend, and she was comforted to have him by her side. Still, her worry did not wane. At the idea of leaving her true home for a long, unknown period of time, she was very uneasy and was dissuaded from taking the trip. To throw away her old life was difficult, but she would not let anything hold her back any longer. "It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly," Zerith whispered in the silence of her solitude and the whipping wind outside.

Zerith could not help smoothing the leather armor of her tunic, gloves, armguards, and greaves, feeling the smooth metal pauldrons that glinted beneath her thick fur cloak. She knew that she would be getting into her first real battles, and without companions, she had not much confidence, but her soul would give her warmth, and he would always be inside of her. She would be bundled up under the day's sun and he would radiate within her, guiding her lonely way. She was a lone wanderer, though she certainly was not lost, just nervous. _The future is uncertain, but I can shape it. _Before she would trudge through the snow, she took the time to hover over a map of Middle Earth. _This trip will take me _forever. _I dread making the effort, lazy me. _She would go to Bree and follow The Green way south from there, past the Gap of Rohan and to Edoras. Then, she would make her way north past Fangorn Forest and Lorien and cut through Mirkwood on the Old Forest Road. She would look upon the Lonely Mountain and Esgorath, and after a stop at the rebuilt town, it was a straight northeast. Zerith had no exact location of the Tarakona, but she prayed that she would find them soon. _Truly, it will take a very long time, though I have infinite time, theoretically, as said by Gostir. What a strange beast. _

Outside, the sky was a pale cloudless blue, and she squinted her eyes, taking some coal from remnants of a fire and putting it below and roughly around her eyes to shield herself from the light. It was slow going in the rough wind, but her spirits perked at Applegrabber's nuzzle into her shoulder in greeting. She quickly strapped bags to his saddle, making sure he was well-fed and rested. Prior to letting her heart bear the fleeting sorrow at leaving her home behind, she offered it one last look before mounting her horse and leaving everything, including the majority of her true self behind. A life had been unmade; Satherra was reborn.

* * *

**Author's Note: I must apologize for this story falling into a hiatus for months. School hit me like an oliphaunt, and I have been unable to return. I vow to you, dear readers, that I shall not give up on this story. This is only the beginning. Firebreather (As I have renamed it to fit more appropriately) is only Pre-lotr. I will most likely continue Zerith's story through LOTR. Speaking of her, Satherra/Zerith are one in the same. Zerith has renamed herself Satherra since she is the old Satherra incarnate, but if she cannot use the name of Satherra (As will be the case when she travels to find the Tarakona) she will call herself Zerith. That is all I must stay. Please review, as it keeps me going. I really need some input. Thanks!**


End file.
